


The Face of Desire

by Abacura



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Demonic Possession, Desire Abomination Connor, Dream Sex, Dubious Consent, Dysphoria, Exhibitionism, Flashbacks, Genderqueer Character, Mind Manipulation, Multi, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 14:00:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10900809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abacura/pseuds/Abacura
Summary: "I'll take pleasure, demon. Show me what you've got."Everyone thought that Connor Guerrin had been freed from the grasp of the desire demon who had possessed him as a child. Well. Almost everyone.A short retrospective about guilt, lust, and growing up as a teenaged desire abomination.





	The Face of Desire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MangoMartini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MangoMartini/gifts).



> Set eight years after the events of Dragon Age: Origins and two before Inquisition.

_ "I'll take pleasure, demon. Show me what you've got." _

 

_ You smile seductively and make a ‘come hither’ gesture with one long, taloned finger. The man, the Warden, he Desires you. You can almost taste his lust. Sating his Desire will be quite nearly as pleasurable as the carnal satisfaction you will gain from his body.  _

 

_ “Then allow me to show you what it means to touch the face of Desire, creature. It is something you shall not soon forget.” _

 

_ He steps in and slips a hand around your waist, pulling your practically-naked body against his own. You arch into his touch and kiss him lightly, teasingly, tempting him until he growls impatiently and pulls you into a deeper, more demanding kiss, his free hand gripping you by the horns to keep you close. You welcome his tongue into your mouth and you can taste the magic in him, humming just beneath his skin, making your tail switch back and forth in excitement. You Desire more. You crave the feel of his bare skin pressed against yours, the feel of all that magic contained within such fragile mortal flesh. _

 

_ The Warden lets his hand around your waist wander downward, caressing the sensitive spot just above your tail before grabbing you firmly by the ass and grinding his hips against your abdomen. You can feel his cock pressing insistently against you through his robes. It’s warm and hard and when you moan appreciatively you can feel it twitch. _

 

_ It’s almost too easy. You can read his Desires in the way he moves. He is the moth that wishes to fly too close to the flame and yet not get burned. He fears possession, he fears you, more than anything else, and so the thought of lying with you here, in the heart of your realm where you are at your most powerful, and yet leaving with his soul intact is an intoxicating thought. The mage who lay with a demon and yet did not get burned. His Desire is equal parts carnal and psychological, and lucky for him you enjoy playing at being conquered. _

 

_ You make a soft, needy humming noise as you grind your belly against his clothed cock, and kiss him as if you’re drowning and he is your air. He releases his grip on your horns and brings his hand down to cup one of your breasts, tugging at your nipple tassels gently at first and then more forcefully when you gasp with pleasure. You feel wet between your thighs. You spread your legs a bit and arch your back, encouraging the Warden’s other hand to wander downwards, past your tail and between your thighs as if it were his idea all along. You mewl piteously and gaze up at him with strategically unfocused eyes, begging wordlessly for more, and the pulse of lust you can sense coursing through the Warden’s body feels even better than his two fingers pressing into you. _

 

_ The Warden groans and wills himself unclothed, his robes effervescing into wisps of green veilfire. He is a powerful mortal indeed to have such mastery over the fade, and you clench down around his fingers appreciatively at his display of magical prowess. He snarls and pulls you down with him onto the ground, pinning your arms above your head with both hands. You spread your legs and arch up into him. He thinks you helpless, pinned beneath his body, but it is he who is now helplessly thrusting against you, desperate to be inside you. And you Desire nothing more than to indulge him. You wrap your legs around his waist and coax his hips downward so that the tip of his cock is just barely pressing into you, and you moan desperately to encourage him. The Warden is completely lost in his Desire for you. His eyes drift closed and he grips your horns with both hands for leverage as he slides into you. _

 

_ The Warden is too far gone to realize he is no longer in control (he has never been in control), and you dig your heels into his ass to coax him deeper until he is buried to the hilt. Thrusting your hips upward, you set a punishing pace that your Warden obediently matches. His face is pressed against your neck and he is moaning helplessly, completely lost in his own pleasure. _

 

_ Good. Time for the fun to really begin. _

 

_ You arch your back and tilt your hips just so and yes, yes that’s it, right there. You squeeze the Warden’s cock and this time your moans aren’t for his benefit. You move your hips in time, meeting each of the Warden’s thrusts and reveling in each flare of pleasure that courses through you. This is who you are, this is all you were meant for, and there is no greater ecstasy that fulfilling your purpose. You moan unashamedly and reach downwards to rub small, fast circles over your clit, shivering as the Warden continues to mindlessly fuck you. At this moment he’s completely unguarded, and you are his singular Desire. Magic sings beneath his skin, and it would be so easy to just slip into his mind and make him your slave, to make his body yours. Except you already have a mortal vessel, and the Warden’s body is already yours. You whine at just the right pitch to drive him to fuck you faster, harder, desperately pounding into you as you pleasure yourself until you can feel yourself tipping over the edge, back arching and- _

 

Connor wakes with a start, heart pounding and gasping as if he’d just run up five flights of stairs. He’s disoriented after being so abruptly pulled from the fade, and for a moment he can’t remember who or where he is. The dream of being pinned down and  _ taken _ by Warden-Commander Amell is so vivid, so intense, that he’s certain for a split second that it had been real and that this was in fact the dream. He feels wet between his legs and it takes Connor a moment to realize it’s because he’s come in his sleep again. He tries and fails to banish the memory of the Warden-Commander slipping his hand between Connor’s legs, of how wet he’d been when the Warden had pressed his fingers inside-

 

The soft clank of shifting plate metal pulls Connor abruptly back to reality, and he flushes when he realizes that the templar who keeps watch over the apprentices each night (what was his name again? Bennett?) is looking right at him. Shit, Connor must have cried out in his sleep. He vividly remembers how he had arched his back and moaned shamelessly while being taken in the Fade just moments before. Had he moaned aloud in his sleep as well? Ser Bennett’s helmet is off, but his hand is resting on the pommel of his sword as he stands up and slowly approaches Connor’s bunk. The templar stops several paces away, peering down at Connor with a slight frown on his face, and Connor is painfully aware of several things.

 

One, that mages are most vulnerable to possession when they dream and Ser Bennett is probably prepared to kill him right this minute if Connor acts suspiciously.

 

Two, that Ser Bennett is tall with broad shoulders, dark hair, and a handsome face, that the hand resting on the pommel of his sword is large enough to easily encircle both of Connor’s wrists, and that Connor has caught Bennett  _ watching _ while he and the other apprentices changed robes before bed each night. Bennett Desires them, and Connor in particular, but he’s never acted on it.

 

And three, that Connor can still feel his own come drying between his legs.

 

“Apprentice? You were making noise in your sleep. Is everything alright?”

 

The Templar’s broad frame casts a shadow over Connor, blocking what little moonlight filters into the dimly lit apprentices’ quarters. Which means he probably can’t see the flush spreading from Connor’s face and creeping downwards towards his collarbones.  “I’m fine, Ser. Just a nightmare is all. I wonder if I might use the washroom before going back to sleep?”

 

The templar regards Connor suspiciously for a moment, but ultimately nods in agreement. He follows closely as Connor slips out of his bunk and pads quietly past his sleeping fellows to reach the semi-walled-off washroom. He fills one of the basins with water and splashes some on his face to drive off the last lingering remains of the Fade. He glances at his own reflection in the mirror, and sure enough it was his own face looking back at him. He knew his face. His warm brown eyes, pale skin, and longish auburn hair should feel familiar, but on nights like these his reflection always looks slightly unfamiliar. It’s as if some part of him is expecting to see violet eyes and lilac skin, curved horns and a curvier body, staring back at him, and when that isn’t what he sees he feels  _ wrong _ in his skin.

 

Connor splashes more water on his face, this time raking his hands through his hair and tugging at his scalp to ground himself. The demon is gone, and had been for almost six years now. He’s read what little there is to read on possession trauma, about how few fully recover. This is normal. Nightmares are a completely normal part of the healing process.

 

Except it hadn’t been a nightmare, not really, as the drying stickiness between his thighs would attest. When Connor looks up again, he sees Ser Bennett watching him in the mirror. He’s ostensibly just standing guard, making sure Connor doesn’t get up to anything suspicious, but Connor can feel the templar’s Desire like a physical sensation, can feel the heat of his gaze as it travels down Connor’s back and comes to rest on his ass. Connor’s cock gives a traitorous twitch as warmth begins to pool in his belly at the thought of it. This has been going on for about two years now, since he’d turned sixteen. He’d started  _ noticing  _ when others in the circle, mage or templar, male or female, had found him attractive, had  _ wanted _ him in some carnal fashion, and Connor found it unbearably arousing to be Desired. Even now, he knows Ser Bennett will do nothing more than look, but just knowing that the templar is fantasizing about him right now is making Connor hard. Part of him is ashamed. Not because sex itself is shameful or anything ridiculous like that, but because Connor feels like he doesn’t deserve to be wanted. He’d killed so many people before being brought to the circle. He’s a monster, and monsters didn’t deserve to be admired, or complemented, or loved.

 

But maybe, some deep dark part of him whispers, just maybe a monster like him does deserve to be ogled like a piece of meat, to be pinned down and used by a templar, to be punished, and Maker’s breath Connor can feel his cock leaking precome, making a fresh wet spot against his robes. Pretending like he hasn’t noticed Ser Bennett watching him, Connor wets a washrag and gathers up his robes around his waist, revealing to the spying templar that he doesn’t sleep with smallclothes on. In fact, Connor had stopped wearing smallclothes altogether about a year ago. They only ever got in the way, and wearing too many clothes just felt  _ wrong _ . He reaches down and slowly, deliberately washes away the evidence of his dream, his quickened breathing the only giveaway that he’s enjoying being watched. He draws this out until he hears Ser Bennett shift uncomfortably in his full plate and disappear back into the main dormitory. Connor grins to himself and gives his cock a squeeze before letting his sleep robes fall back down to cover his lower half and tossing the washrag into the laundry hamper. When he pads back out of the washroom, Ser Bennett has returned to his nightly post, perched on a stool by the door and reading by candlelight. Except now he has his helmet on, so he damn well can’t be reading through that tiny eye slit. Connor fights down a smile at the thought of making the big bad templar blush. As he passes Ser Bennett on his way back to his bunk, he whispers “Goodnight, Ser,” and the templar can only manage a grunt and a nod, not even taking his eyes off the book he was pretending to read. Which is a shame. If he’d looked up he would have seen the tent in the front of Connor’s robes.

 

Connor slips back into his bunk and tries to get comfortable. He knows that if he falls asleep now, he won’t be able to keep himself from conjuring an image of Ser Bennett in the Fade. The only question was how he himself would appear. Would he be the wicked apprentice that needs to be punished, or the desire demon seducing and corrupting the supposedly incorruptible Templar? Mages were supposed to have completely lucid dreams at all times, but that was the only aspect of his own dreams Connor couldn’t seem to control. There had been no mention of such a side effect in  _ Post-Possession: the Personal Accounts of Mages Freed from the Grasp of Demons by Senior Enchanter Sheridan _ , or in any of the other texts Connor had collected, but shapeshifting while in the fade was a well-documented if rarely-mastered ability. Perhaps most mages like him were reluctant to reveal that they experienced such shapeshifting episodes? Probably, if only to protect themselves from being made tranquil. Connor considers penning a personal account of how he feels when he dreams of himself as the desire demon from his childhood, of how good it feels to  _ be  _ her, and he can’t help but slip his hand beneath the sheets and press the heel of his hand against his cock.

 

Best not. The templars would only take it as proof that the ritual from his childhood had somehow failed, that he was still possessed. Which was ridiculous. Who would go through all that trouble just to not expel the demon? Sure, his recurring dreams often feel more like memories than fantasies, but who could fault him for fantasizing about the famed Hero of Ferelden? The man had personally saved his life when he was twelve. At least he comes by his complexes honestly.

 

Connor yawns and shifts in his bunk so he’s curled up facing towards Ser Bennett. Between the questions his mind won’t quite stop fixating on and the persistent low simmer of arousal, Connor is just a hair too restless to slip back into the Fade. He closes his eyes and wishes Ser Bennett’s gaze would wander over towards him once more, if only to drown out the anxious buzz of his mind. Yes, Connor Desires that very much.

  
It only takes a few moments for Connor to sense the templar’s gaze returning to him, as if drawn in by Connor’s private yearnings. Connor smiles as warm contentment laced with burning arousal spreads through his body, completely chasing off the worries and insecurities and guilt that so often plague him. He slips back off into the Fade, content in the knowledge that he is Desired, and that is all he could ever ask for.


End file.
